My Blackened Heart, Scorched by Flames
by MelanieDanger
Summary: Claude is finally able to return Jeralt's diary to Byleth, but not before having a heart-to-heart conversation with her. (Post-Time Skip Spoilers / Pre-Relationship Tension)


Byleth couldn't get to sleep again.

She should have been used to it. Wandering around the ruined monastery at night was becoming a routine. Over the past few months, she was more alive and awake than ever, struggling to keep her mind at ease. This war was all touch and go.

Claude joked that five years of 'hibernation' must've thrown off her sleep schedule—and maybe there was truth to that, but she knew what he really meant. It was his own way of saying '_Something here isn't right. And you feel that, too, don't you? The fact that I can't figure this out is eating me alive_.'

Each battle with the Adrestian Empire left her with more questions. About Fódlan, about Crests, about Claude, and where she ought to be in the middle of it all.

Her eyes were being forced wide-open. Keeping her up at night.

As she turned her heel around the corner, she saw Claude in the distance, standing under the amber light of a lamp. His gaze was set on a book, one hand cupping the spine and the other spread over his jaw. Lost in midnight thoughts.

Byleth intended to walk right past him to her quarters, but when he heard the sound of her boots clicking against the cobblestone path, his eyes flickered up to her.

"Hey, Teach."

Claude closed the book with one hand and held it at his side, out of the light. She still wasn't used to seeing his face looking so ashen, but still, he placed a hand on his hip and smiled at her.

"You have a way of showing up at just the right time. I know it's late, but can you spare a minute?" he asked.

Byleth hesitated, but nodded her head. She slowly approached him, coming to stand just inside the glow of the lamp and just out of arm's length. The fact that they kept meeting this way, by chance in the dead of night, made her feel odd.

Then, he raised his book up to the lamplight, revealing the supple leather and familiar scent of dust. Father's diary. Her mouth fell slightly ajar and his smile deepened sincerely.

"I've been meaning to return this to you. A little overdue, wouldn't you say?"

A smile met her eyes. "You kept it safe while I was gone."

"That's one way to put it," he replied, admiring the binding. "Over the years, I've read through each entry a few times over. Most are descriptions of you and your mother, but some almost read like poetry. Your father loved you dearly, that much can be said..."

Byleth watched, mesmerized, as he began to lower the book into her hands. It was in as good condition as the day she handed it to him, back when he gave his condolences and promised that he wouldn't take it for granted. For more than one reason, giving it to Claude to read was for the best. The thought of what may have happened if it was left in the monastery, in the hands of warfare, made her stomach turn.

"_Actually—_" He reeled the book back from her grasp. "Before I hand this back to you, there's something in here that's been gnawing at me for a while."

Byleth made a face. "What is it?"

He opened the diary and began flipping through the pages, quickly skimming the entries. She got on her tiptoes to see what page he was looking for, but then his eyes lit up. He tapped the ink with gloved fingers.

"Ah, right here. When you first gave this to me, I couldn't believe this." Claude looked down at her face again, then back to the book. "Your father wrote that you had a pulse, but no heartbeat."

She nodded and peered over at the page. "Yes, I remember."

"Now, I'm not a doctor, but a thing like that might be worth getting checked out, eh?" Claude leaned forward and looked down at her with curiosity. "You ever felt your own heart, Teach?"

With a downcast expression, she shook her head. "I've never really thought about it."

"I see. Somehow, I'm not the least bit surprised to hear that." Claude shook his head and chuckled dryly. He couldn't count how many times he'd heard those words from her. "How about this—if I show you mine, will you show me yours?"

"What?" She blinked at him. "Show you my heart?"

Claude turned away from her, walked into the dark, and placed the diary on a wooden crate. He became more illuminated by moonlight than lamplight, but she could see him beckon for her. The gesture alone made her turn crimson and, regardless of what he was plotting, she wanted to follow along.

Once Byleth was close enough, he stepped forward, bridging most of the gap between them, and held out his palm. "Give me your hand."

Gingerly, she complied. She placed the back of her hand in his own and the warmth seeped through his dark, leathery glove as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, thumb pressed firmly into her palm, gripping tight. She watched with a steady gaze as he lifted it to his chest and pressed her hand firmly into the cloth of his shirt, her fingers splaying out against him.

Then, after a moment of unease, she could feel it. A faint pulsing against her palm. Difficult to feel through his clothes, but it was definitely there. The intimacy of the gesture faded from her mind as it dawned on her that she had never, _ever_ felt something like that in her chest. She'd felt the pulse on her neck before, but…

"Here's mine," Claude affirmed, lips curling into a smile. "You can feel it, can't you?"

"Yes, I think so." She returned the smile.

"Do you want to listen?"

She nodded.

This conversation was turning into more than she bargained for. It went from him simply returning Father's diary to him making Byleth feel unbearably hot, blushing from head to toe, her hands breaking into a sweat.

He reached out his hand toward the side of her face and brushed her hair behind her ear with the tips of his fingers. She only knew to stand there sheepishly as he did so, staring into his eyes. Neither were breathing.

Then, she felt him tracing his glove from her ear to the back of her head, his fingers becoming entwined in her hair. He was gently pulling her toward his chest.

Soon as her ear came into contact with the silk of his shirt, she could hear his heart pounding loud and fast like horses' hooves. Byleth latched onto his arm to steady herself as she listened. As she felt the vibration against her cheek, her eyes fluttered shut. She could still feel his hand caressing the back of her head and neck. Warm and gentle.

"It's beating so loud," she noted, looking down at his boots. "Does it sound like this all the time?"

"Not all the time. See, it's usually louder when you're around."

Claude touched a hand to her shoulder and gently pushed her back from him. When he saw her eyes, bright and eagerly looking up to him, it made his blood rush.

"Now, let's see if I can feel yours," he said huskily.

He watched carefully as she removed the golden crest from her breast, placed it on top of Jeralt's diary, and put out her hand toward him. With a sigh, he ungloved his right hand and offered it to her. Then, she mirrored what he did earlier.

Byleth took his hand by the wrist, thumb embedded in his palm, and guided his hand to the soft skin on her rising and falling chest. His fingertips skimmed her collarbone and his wrist became enveloped by the fullness of her breasts. He let out a deep breath.

It was possible that her heartbeat was simply too faint to be felt by his bare hand. Very possible. But instinctually, he thought there was an eerie lack of sensation there.

He kept a clinical expression on his face, even after she began looking to him with big, expectant eyes.

"Can you feel it? " she finally asked.

"Not at all. But you're also an exceptionally calm person, so that could make it hard to feel with my hand alone. Why don't we try listening?"

She nodded her head, both of their hands slipping away from her chest.

Claude leaned his head down toward her heart, but their difference in height was a challenge. He decided to make up for it by swiftly bringing his hands beneath her cloak, pressing his fingers just below her shoulder blades, and gently forcing her up to him, just enough to put her on her tiptoes.

As the side of his head met with the softness of her chest, her breathing hitched. The feeling of her breast against his cheek made his heart race, thumping and forcefully raising his excitement.

However, all he heard from her heart was ambient noise. He heard crickets chirp in the distance and Byleth warmly exhale against his hair, but her chest was silent as stars in the dark. His eyes went wide.

He remembered what Jeralt wrote with near-perfect script in his diary: _No heartbeat... No heartbeat!_

Frankly, Claude had never felt so terror-stricken and aroused at the same time. And at this point in his life, that was a remarkable feat.

"What do you hear?" she asked.

"Nothing, not a sound," he marveled, lifting his head from her chest and letting his hands fall away from her back.

"Really?" She turned away from him with a grave expression. "Nothing at all?"

"Hey, what's that face? You shouldn't take things to, uh..." Claude winced and touched the back of his neck. "You shouldn't take things too hard, Teach."

Byleth sighed, looking doleful. "It's frightening, isn't it? I might have no heart at all…"

"Hey, let's not jump to conclusions. Heart or no heart, being different is nothing to be ashamed of." He touched his hand to her upper-arm, but didn't allow himself to linger. "Come on, you know that."

She forced a soft smile. "Yes, I know."

"All it means is that we still have our work cut out for us." He looked away from her and into the distance. He bit his lip. "Your father wrote that this goes back to your birth, but I can't say more than that."

Solemnly, she nodded. "Rhea must know something about this."

"My thoughts exactly."

She picked up the gold crest and clipped it back onto her breast. Then, she finally took her father's diary into her hands, smiling tenderly as he'd ever seen. Again, she thanked him for taking care of it.

"Tomorrow will be an early morning," she told him, bowing her head. "Both of us should at least try to get some rest before marching off."

He nodded in agreement, pulling his glove back onto his hand. "G'night, Teach. Try not to oversleep."


End file.
